Burn
by GoddessOfTechnology
Summary: He will never forgive him. (Or: Soulmates are a tricky matter to deal with, and often they can go horribly wrong.)


**A/N: Credit to lazy-writing-prompts on tumblr for the prompt used to write this fic. Credit to rycbarm123 for betareading.**

* * *

He's never been too fond of the idea of soulmates.

Some might consider that strange, considering his chronic lack of friends, his strong desire for companionship. He's always been known for being too obnoxious, too clingy, too excitable, an annoyance to everyone around him. A soulmate would be just the thing to assuage his interminable loneliness, to give him some respite from being an outcast: after all, what better companion could you have than the second half of your own soul?

Despite all expectations, the idea of a soulmate makes him feel…uncomfortable.

There's something _forced_ about such an arrangement, he thinks. About being irrevocably, non-negotiably tied forevermore to a complete stranger. The idea is disconcerting to him. What if he disliked his soulmate, or his soulmate disliked him? What if he were forced to be with a person he despised?

But, whenever he brings up the question, he's just laughed at. His mother, his sisters, the neighbors, all simply tell him that he'll understand when he meets his soulmate.

Confused, he stops asking questions, and waits for understanding.

And eventually, understanding comes.

* * *

He's never been too fond of the idea of soulmates.

In fact, he laughs at the idea. The legends are nothing more than sappy, saccharine daydreams invented by some fools and kept alive by generation after generation of fools. People, linked to people they've never met because of some fairy-tale soul bond? _Ha._

The only people who could believe that tripe were idiots, hopeless romantics, or some poor lonely fool pathetically wishing for a friend. And he is none of those things. He's clever and cunning and self-reliant, and he needs_ no one,_ lest of all some stupid _soulmate._

No, soulmates are a waste of time, a moronity, and he has neither the time nor the inclination to pursue them.

Or so he believed.

* * *

It's fitting, in a way, that his first friend would be his soulmate.

He's never had much in the way of friends, and they were a strange and beautiful concept to him, a luxury that he could see others enjoy, that he wished he could have as well. He's dreamed over and over of what would happen if he got a friend, what he would say, what they would do together, how they would meet.

So when his fellow knight-hopeful offers _his_ friendship, he is beside himself. Launching into one of his usual rants, he asks a million questions, overwhelming his newfound friend.

And when at last he envelops his friend (and oh, how sweet that word sounds) in a hug…he's surprised by the flicker of electricity that sparks between them, surprised by the feeling of some void being filled, surprised by the small burn mark that appears on his hand, a sign that he's found his soulmate at last.

_You'll understand when you meet your soulmate,_ they said.

He understands, now.

* * *

_No. No, no, no._

Now is the worst time for something like this to happen.

He doesn't want to believe it, at first. The young man is a fool, a naive idiot, easily manipulated and fashioned into a tool._ His_ mind is like some flighty dumb-witted bird, darting from topic to topic without structure or logic._ He_ is everything that he despises, and how could that meddlesome, pathetic moron be his soulmate?

Not to mention, _he's_ an obstacle, an opponent. _He_ is a stepping stone that will bear him to victory. He's spent too long concocting this plan to throw it away on some measly _soulmate._

No. He will have to get rid of _him_. His goal is the crown of Daventry, and no one will stand in his way.

(he ignores the feeling of some hole in his soul being filled, of the lingering traces of electric completion, of the burn-mark he knows he would find on the back of his hand if he were to remove his gauntlet)

* * *

Oh, what a fool he's been.

Of course. He should have known that _he_ didn't truly want to be his friend. Whoever wanted to be friends with a wretch like him?

(except for…no. He won't think about that. He won't think about it until this tournament is finished, until he's won his knighthood, until he can find a small, dark corner to panic in. Assuming he survives to that point)

_He_ was only ever taking advantage of him. _He_ was lying through his teeth all along.

He was right all along, and the realization is bitter in his mouth. Soulmates are nothing but trouble. He is done with them, forever.

(the burn stings and stings and stings, but he stubbornly ignores it)

* * *

_His_ life is in his hands. Only a miracle can help _him_ now. He has won, he has crushed _him, _he has destroyed _him_.

(the burn stings and stings and stings, but he stubbornly ignores it)

* * *

He has won by a hairsbreadth, and the victory is bittersweet.

* * *

He has lost, and the loss is painful, as if sparks of anger are devouring his soul.

* * *

He will never forgive _him_.

* * *

He will never forgive _him_.


End file.
